The Transfiguration Blues
by rock-the-casbah18
Summary: ChallengeFic. Blaise asks Hermione to tutor him. What happens when Hermione ends up learning something herself?


**A/N:** In response to hondagirl's "First Love Challenge" at the Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges forum. This is my first attempt at a challenge from that forum, and hopefully not my last! Doesn't really follow any of the books, so disregard all that, yeah?

**Also, I've started an HP RPG forum! **Check out my forums on my profile, see if you'd like to participate!

Love, true love, was an absolutely ridiculous concept that Hermione Granger refused to spend any time pondering. Why should she waste her time in such a frivolous manner? There were much more important things to keep in mind: NEWTs were only five months away, Snape had given Harry and Ron detention for no apparent reason, and there was a twenty-four centimetre paper due to Flitwick on Monday. So why was it that the subject of love kept tip-toeing its way into her head? Hermione blamed it on the fact that she was surrounded by lovebirds all day; Ginny and Harry were often found canoodling in the common room and Ron and Lavender were always fighting just to make up.

It shouldn't occupy her mind this much, this love thing, but there was no denying the fact that it sometimes consumed Hermione. As was happening at this very moment. Hermione had been staring at the same page in her Advanced Arithmancy textbook for going on fifteen minutes. She jumped visibly in her seat as the silence in the library was broken by the familiar grunt of someone clearing their throat.

"Can I be of assistance, Zabini," Hermione all but snarled, slightly embarrassed at being caught so deep in her thoughts on such a silly topic. Even if Blaise Zabini wasn't a mind reader and didn't know that Hermione had just been thinking about a very heated scene she'd recently read in a romance novel. Hermione watched, disgruntled, as the caramel complected Slytherin pulled the chair across from her out from under the table and took a seat.

"Actually, I have a favour to ask of you," the unusually quiet young man said. Hermione thought that those might be the most words she'd ever heard him string together. Which really could've been for the better, seeing as Blaise was a Slytherin, and therefore was absolute scum.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, saying, "Well then?"

"You see," Blaise began, running a long-fingered hand through his unruly black curls, "I'm having a bit of, eh, difficulty with Transfiguration. I went to McGonagall for help, and she suggested that I find you." His voice was low and smooth, and slightly accented, but Hermione could tell that Blaise was nervous about confronting her. Honestly, it's not as if she bites!

"So you'd like me to tutor you, is what you're asking?" Hermione closed her book and straightened up in her seat. Academics were not to be taken lightly, and a fellow student in need, no matter what house he crawled from, was not to be ignored.

"Correct."

Hermione gathered her loose curls into a bun and secured them with a spare quill. Grabbing a blank piece of parchment, she quickly drew up a timetable and notes. "Alright, Zabini," Hermione began in a tone scarily reminiscent to McGonagall, "starting this Monday we will meet every other evening after dinner, in this same place. Except on Sunday, when we will meet before lunch, promptly at half past eleven. Bring your textbook and any notes, however little, you've managed to acquire." Hermione paused for breath, about to interrogate Blaise on what exactly he was having trouble with, when the lanky Slytherin cut her off.

"Granger, Friday evening won't work for me," Blaise said as if that were the most obvious thing in the world and how dare Hermione even suggest they meet at that time.

"And why not," Hermione bit out. For Merlin's sake, she was trying here, trying really, really hard to be a good prefect and a good person.

Blaise rolled his eyes at the girl's angry posturing. "I have a life, Granger. And I can't promise I'll be prompt Sunday mornings, either." With those promising last words, Blaise excused himself from the table and left the library.

* * *

"Excuse me, I don't think I heard you right," Ron Weasley choked out through a mouthful of Monday's dinner. "You're tutoring that Zabini bloke, the Slytherin? Doesn't he hang around with Malfoy?"

Hermione rolled her eyes in disgust as Ron took a huge gulp from his goblet of pumpkin juice, dribbling down his chin and onto his school shirt. "Yes, I'm helping Zabini with his Transfiguration. As far as who he chooses to spend time with, I don't know, nor do I care. McGonagall suggested me to help and it's only right that I do." Hermione was too quick not to notice Ginny Weasley snort and roll her eyes and Hermione's uppity behavior. "Actually, I have to go meet with him right now. I'll see you two back at the Common Room." Harry and Ron nodded their agreement, and Ginny looked put out at how skillfully she was ignored.

Within a few quick minutes, Hermione was at her table in the library, books and parchment spread out in a unorganized, catastrophic mess. Blaise was nowhere to be seen, so Hermione occupied her time by doodling on a spare piece of parchment. She was scribbling... hearts?! Why on earth was she drawing hearts, the universal symbol of love? Hermione angrily balled up the parchment in her fist and tossed it across the table. Where it immediately connected with Blaise's slightly crooked nose.

Hermione jumped for the second time in his presence. "How long have you been there?"

"Only a moment," Blaise said with a smirk, "I know I'm a bit late, but do you think that in future, you could refrain from throwing crumpled parchment at me? It's not very polite." Hermione snorted.

"You're one to talk about manners. This is the second time I've nearly fallen out of my seat because you haven't even made it known that you're there." Hermione fought the urge to stick her tongue out. "That's enough of that, though. Let's just begin, shall we?"

An hour later, Hermione watched as Blaise diligently turned his textbook into a small wooden box over and over again.

"Good, Zabini, excellent! You're a quick study," Hermione said with false enthusiasm, a fake smile plastered across her face. It had taken her five minutes to master that simple spell; she didn't have an hour every other day to spend with Zabini on the basics! But McGonagall had entrusted her with the task of teaching Zabini, and she'd do whatever it took. "It's actually kind of odd; you pronounced the same part of the spell wrong about fifty times, and then you miraculously had it right. Whatever works for you, though."

Blaise smiled, close-lipped, at Hermione and she offhandedly noticed how nice his full lips were. "I guess that's it, Granger. I'll see you Wednesday, then." Blaise left Hermione rubbing her temples at the table in the far corner of the library.

* * *

"Are you going home for the holiday, then," Hermione asked quietly, not even glancing up from her Transfiguration essay. Blaise set his own quill down and looked at the girl. He noticed she had an ink smudge on her nose that closely resembled a thumb print.

"Yes, of course," Blaise said. He continued staring at Hermione until she set down her own quill and looked up, disgruntled by the distraction.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know it was required in high society," Hermione said snidely, drawing out the last two words in an aristocratic tone. It had been two weeks since she had began tutoring Blaise, and she was getting decidedly tired of the task. She had to persevere, though, for McGonagall's sake. The last thing Hermione wanted to be was a disappointment.

Blaise chuckled. "You've got a bit of ink right there, you know?" He watched the scarlet blush creep into Hermione's cheeks as the girl's eyes flashed with anger.

"You could've said something before," Hermione snapped, hands flying to cover her nose. "Although I guess you wouldn't have gotten a laugh out of it if you had." Blaise chuckled again and Hermione's scowl deepened. Reaching across the table, Blaise pulled Hermione's paler, smaller hands away from her face. His own thumb reached out and rubbed gently across the tip of her nose until the ink was almost completely gone. "There, it's mostly gone."

The blush on Hermione's cheeks spread to her neck and the small part of her chest visible at the top of her buttoned uniform shirt. Who gave him permission to touch her?!

"We could keep in touch by owl," Blaise said lowly, his pale blue eyes cast down towards the table. "Over holiday, if you wanted."

"Are you... flirting with me, Zabini," Hermione said, aghast.

"No," Blaise said, catching the girl's eyes with his own, "I'm trying to pass Transfiguration."

* * *

"Your letters were very precise and to the point, Granger," were the first words out of Blaise's mouth as he sat down across from Hermione.

"Would you have me write three feet of parchment saying how terribly I miss you," Hermione said dryly, cracking open her textbook.

"No, though you could've at least but 'dear' in front of Zabini. That is typical letter format, you know." Blaise pulled his wand from his discarded messenger bag and set it on the table. "I'll have you know though, that I perfected every single spell you sent for me to do. Which was no easy feat, seeing as I barely ever had any time alone."

Hermione raised an eyebrow and folded her arms across her chest. "What a hardship, being popular. I'm surprised you managed to complete all _three_ spells I sent you." Biting back a chuckle at her own humour, Hermione rolled her eyes. "I mean, wow, Blaise, you're such a diligent worker, putting aside your holiday activities just to practice Transfiguration. I don't know why I'm not on my knees right now, kissing your feet. You're so bloody fantastic and – Mmph!"

The full lips that Hermione had noticed those weeks ago (and thought about once after, if she were being honest with herself) landed somewhat gracefully on her own. She let out a squeal of surprise and promptly tried to pull her face away, only to find that Blaise had a firm grip on her chin. Hermione gasped and Blaise took the initiative to plunge his tongue into her mouth. Hermione found that her own tongue, in an act of severe mutiny, joined in the action, caressing Blaise's timidly. Wait! What was she doing? Hermione's hands flew to Blaise's chest, pushing against him roughly until he finally released her mouth and fell back in his seat, breathing heavily.

"What the bloody hell was that," Hermione almost screeched. She was in the library after all.

"Shutting you up, that's what," Blaise retorted, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

Hermione slammed her textbook closed, and stood up. "I believe we're done here, Zabini."

"You'll be here Friday evening, won't you," Blaise said, successfully hiding the worry in his tone.

"I - I don't know," Hermione said before turning on her heel and stalking away.

* * *

Friday evening found Hermione sitting at her regular table in the corner of the library, cursing herself for even showing up. Blaise hadn't arrived yet, giving Hermione sufficient time to run away, but she just couldn't bring herself to do it. She was doing this for McGonagall, her Head of House and role model, and she would not, no matter what happened, quit.

But why had Blaise kissed her? And since when did she start thinking of him as Blaise? Hermione sat silently, tapping her foot angrily against the wooden floor, pondering life and, dare she admit it, love.

"Don't think too hard, _cara_, you could hurt yourself," Blaise said as he sat down in his chair. Stretching his arms out behind his head, Blaise studied Hermione. The curly-haired witch sensed that he was watching her and met his look with a glare.

"Please open your textbook to page three hundred and ninety-seven. Read the first three paragraphs, and then attempt the transfiguration." Hermione's tone was monotonous, her look bored.

"No."

Hermione sputtered. "Excuse me, what?"

"No, I will not open my textbook, nor shall I read." Blaise leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs out before him.

Hermione stared open-mouthed at Blaise, confused. "Then what are you here for?" The look that Blaise fixed Hermione with was pure, seductive evil and Hermione immediately knew why Blaise Zabini had been sorted into Slytherin.

Needless to say, not much studying was done.

* * *

"Hermione, what's got your knickers in a bunch," Ron said from his armchair in the Gryffindor Common Room. Surprising, Lavender was nowhere to be seen.

"Nothing," Hermione said moodily, staring pointedly at the fire burning hotly in the grate.

"Oh, right," Ron said slowly, utterly unconvinced. "Well, when you decide you want to talk about it, I'm here to lend an ear. As long as it isn't when I have Quidditch practice. Or when I'm sleeping. Or" Ron cut his rant short when Harry tossed a spare pillow from the sofa at him.

Hermione continued to stare silently into the fire. She should be ridiculously happy; instead of wasting her evenings tutoring a snarky Slytherin, she had been wasting them snogging said snarky Slytherin. Blaise gave her butterflies, no, _bats_, in her stomach just by looking at her. The way he kissed her, touched her, made her feel like she was slowly burning up. And, oh, the sweet little things he did for her! On nights when they arrived at the Library at the same time, Blaise would pull out her chair for her and help her remove her cloak. Sometimes he'd tuck a tiny note away into the pocket of her bag when she wasn't looking, for her to find the next time she was rifling through it for a quill. When she wasn't with Blaise, she thought of him, constantly. He was her sweet secret, the one thing she didn't have to share with her friends, the one thing she had completely to herself. None of this should have made her upset, yet here she was on a Saturday night, brooding by the fire.

Hermione's eyes widened with a sudden realization. She wasn't upset at Blaise, or at his actions. She was upset because she was _in love_. For the first time in her life.

* * *

Blaise sunk his teeth lightly into Hermione's bared shoulder and she gasped delightedly. She never would have expected to be straddling a Slytherin in the back corner of the library but here she was, doing just that.

"Blaise," Hermione moaned out, earning an appreciative chuckle from the boy. She continued on though. "Shouldn't we at least get some Transfiguration done? We haven't worked on it in weeks."Hermione felt more than she heard Blaise's sigh against her neck.

"I have to admit something, _bella_." Hermione's brow furrowed at Blaise's statement, but she kept her mouth shut. "I've never needed help with Transfiguration."

"What," Hermione shrilled, pulling Blaise's hands out of her shirt and herself off of his lap.

Blaise shrugged, his slightly swollen lips smiling innocently up at Hermione. "I had a bit of a crush on you, and I had to come up with some way you'd actually speak to me."

"But – but McGongall," Hermione said, dismayed.

"There was no McGonagall Hermione," Blaise said slowly, shaking his head. "I made it all up. I'm doing absolutely fine in Transfiguration. Above satisfactory, even."

Hermione was all but shaking with anger. All those nights, all these weeks, even months, they'd all been a lie! A clever lie designed to catch her at her weakest. Lies were one of the only things that Hermione Granger did not deal well with. How could Blaise have done that to her? She loved him. Of course, he didn't know that, but what did that matter?

"I'm sorry," Blaise said with a questioning lilt to his voice.

"You should be," Hermione said, tossing her things into her bag. "You could've just talked to me Blaise_. _I'm not that unapproachable, am I?"

"Well actually," Blaise began with a timid chuckle.

Hermione let out a noise of frustration and hoisted her bag over her shoulder. "We're through here, Blaise. Please don't try to talk to me, or write me, or anything. I think I'd much rather forget I even know you." Hermione bit her tongue to fight against the onslaught of tears. She'd be fine; she'd get over him. It's not as if people marry the first person they fall in love with anyway. Hermione practically sprinted from the library, leaving an open-mouthed and utterly confused seventeen-year-old boy behind.

Oh, McGongall would be so disappointed in her.

**A/N: **And I'm done! I feel as though I have to explain myself a bit, even though I may not. I tried to keep Hermione in character; kind of uppity, snotty, and dedicated to education. I hope you see that, and don't think of her as leaving Blaise over something silly.


End file.
